


One More Blow

by thepalewalker



Category: youtube - Fandom
Genre: animeish au, idc this is for youtube comment section, they fight
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-22
Updated: 2018-12-22
Packaged: 2019-09-24 14:52:37
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,374
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17102669
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thepalewalker/pseuds/thepalewalker
Summary: Felix, the reigning King, is faced by the rising challenge of the T-Series League.





	One More Blow

The being was crafted from birth as a vessel to carry his league, T-Series, to victory. Even as Felix tightened his grip upon the blade in his hand-- it pulsed with all of the honor he had earned through his journey-- he feared. Yes, he, Felix Kjellberg, feared. 

This was not just a challenge against him. This was war. This was a war that had been brewing ever since the end of the Golden Age of Champions. The Leagues had crept up slowly, steadily. They were looked down upon then. Leagues were founded upon a loophole in the rules system, because nowhere was it stated that one man could not play for another. So, collections of warriors came together, usually under a command of strategists, in order to select among them the best matches for opponents in the tournaments. Through these means, members of Leagues only had to hone one aspect of their abilities and become the ultimate foil for whoever was weak against their unique style.

Felix was different. He was a true Champion, as the ones of old, but he had risen much further than many were able. He had come a long way since the days of his youth, when he fought tooth and nail in this great arena. Sweat and blood had made him strong, and even now, years of toil had clawed themselves into his face and brow. It seemed as if he had been the King forever. The King of the Arena, who had clawed his way through the squirming mass of bodies, so dense that they suffocated one another, until he finally reached the top and crowed out his victory. Faces flashed by in memory. Their expressions were of reverence, of fear, or hatred, and despair. Friends and foes alike, whom he had struck down upon the sand. In the beginning, he had fought as fiercely as they, clawing out every victory with tooth and nail. But, the momentum soon carried him forward. It spun. It tumbled. It was like an avalanche tumbling down a hill, gathering up more and more snow, rocks, and trees until it became utterly unstoppable.

Felix wanted to kick himself for not watching his back. Once the sword of the First Champion was put into his hand, he had thought he would never need to fight another challenger again. 

Then, a representative of T-Series had tacked their symbol onto the tournament board, and Pewdiepie was once more thrust into the fray.

Was he strong enough? Surely. He had earned his place, he was powerful enough to keep it! He quivered in his deepest heart, however. T-Series’ hand had more Aces than he could count, and Felix stood alone.

The hot sun beat down upon the Arena. The sand was said to once have been white, but now it was the color of rust from years of dried blood and sweat that escaped the monthly cleaning. The rancid smell of dried blood was familiar to Felix’s nose, but in the sense that the scent of one’s childhood home was easily recognizable. His heavy armor that he had become famous for in his later years of battle was like a microwave in this type of weather, and sweat was already beginning to gather on his skin. The wind whistled. It whispered and sighed. The audience gathered in the stands, itching for the bloodbath to come, muttered and rumbled in the background, but Felix’s mind automatically filtered it out into background static.

The figure before him was thin, with lean, hardened muscle. Around his throat was a blood-red sash emblazioned with the seal of T-Series. Felix would have paid attention to the face of his opponent, to his eyes, in order to better understand what might be to come, but the man before him was an empty vessel for a larger whole. 

Felix breathed in and out. His body settled into a familiar stance, his feet digging a solid hold into the sand. His fingers readjusted on the leather grip of his blade. The sword was simple in appearance. In fact, others might have dismissed it as average. It was anything but.

As soon as the gong was rung, its echoes striking upon the white stones that held up the goblet from which the people had their fill of slaughter, the metal burst to life. The worn metal was eaten up by a wave of silver, then once more by gold. A final burble of white crystal, and then finally, blazing ruby that looked as if it held dragon’s fire in its depths. Felix could feel the heat of the blade against his skin, even hotter than the sun that beat down from above.

His opponent immediately dashed towards him, moving so quickly that a spray of sand was sent behind his feet. Felix swung his sword up to catch the incoming sword that was pointed at his throat, but the incoming force ducked beneath his swing, catching his curved blade across the unprotected skin of Felix’s legs.

His blood joined its elder kin in the sand.

From that point on, it was an acrobat versus a tank. Pewdiepie was famed for the sheer force of his blows. His armor was too thick to be pierced around the vital areas of his chest. So, in order to get around this, T-Series had wisely selected an extremely quick combatant. The vessel flitted about like a butterfly. Each blow dealt to Felix’s arms, legs, and fingers was shallow, but as the fight went on, the loss of blood was beginning to get to him.

Another daring blow of the acrobat glanced off of the superior make of the First Champion’s blade.

And with every swing, Felix felt his strength leaving him. The crowd was on the edge of their seats, waiting for either a second wind from their long-term champion, or this wretched imitation of honor would eventually wear down the reigning king into the dust.

His teeth gritted, Felix dug his feet into the ground. If things went on as they did, he would eventually be struck down. He just didn’t have the speed behind his swings to even get a hit on the figure that danced around him. Try as he might, he just didn’t have the momentum to win this fight.

“Why fight against me?” Felix yelled through his labored breathes. “No one will care about you after this fight. You won’t get any honor from this fight. You’ll barely receive a fraction of the reward money. Why fight for the League?”

Finally, this made the relentless onslaught pause. The man paused, his hand drifting to the sash that bedighted him. 

“I know I can win this way,” the man finally said.

He swung against the ruby blade. Again, again, again. Felix’s arm was screaming from the build up of lactic acid. He could barely hold up his sword.

He stumbled. 

His foe didn’t even seem to be aiming any longer. He just hacked away at Felix’s resolve.

Felix fell back.

The sword was raised above his head for the final blow.

And it was flung back by a flash of gold and blue.

“Pewdiepie!” a voice called with the impact.

Looking up into the sun, the figure was blocked out by the light, surrounded by a halo of radiance as he struck off T-Series’ relentless blows with fresh vigor.

With each hit of the blade, he repeated the taken name of the King, like a mantra or a curse. As the attacks were warded off, Felix finally shielded his eyes from the sun to see the face of his savior.

“Mister Beast?” he mumbled.

With a finally thrust, the guardian angel sent the threat stumbling back. “Someone accidentally scheduled one of my fights on top of yours!” he laughed. And Felix flashed him a wolfish grin. He was lucky to have fans with money.

Perhaps this would be enough to hold off T-Series just a little while longer.

It was a dull spark of hope, but enough for Felix to keep fighting.

Every second won for the cause of Champions was a victory against Leagues.

The age of Leagues in the Arena had not begun, and the age of Champions would never die!


End file.
